


Cynicism is Optimism with an Eyepatch

by jenna_thorn



Category: Battle Scars (Comics)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-22
Updated: 2014-09-22
Packaged: 2018-02-18 10:38:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2345363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenna_thorn/pseuds/jenna_thorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marcus put fingertips to his forehead, then flinched when the palm of his hand brushed the wad of gauze covering half his face. Twenty eight times, he’d done that, in the last fourteen hours. Not that Phil was counting or anything like that. He was just here for the Jell-O.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cynicism is Optimism with an Eyepatch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rhi Shaw (Gryphonrhi)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gryphonrhi/gifts).



> Battle Scars comics-verse, since we’ve not established their history in MCU.

“Seriously, Marcus, more paperwork?” Phil tossed the file onto the wheeled table now beside the window. It didn’t move, which wasn’t a surprise, since the damn thing took both arms and a hip check to position it over Marcus’s bed for meals. “I blame you.”

“You told the scary woman you wanted to join up.”

“I told the scary woman that I was just tagging along to keep you out of trouble.”

“Which means you joined up. Which means paperwork.”

“Most of which could have been copied over from my personnel file. But that would indicate efficiency.”

“And interdepartmental cooperation.” Marcus put fingertips to his forehead, then flinched when the palm of his hand brushed the wad of gauze covering half his face. Twenty eight times, he’d done that, in the last fourteen hours. Not that Phil was counting or anything like that. He was just here for the Jell-O. “Wrong name, Marcus.” He tapped the paper.

Marcus glanced at the top of the sheet, which had Nick Fury, Jr, neatly printed in his precise backward slant, then at the bottom, where he’d signed his usual near-illegible Marcus Johnson. “Fuck,” he said, and brought his hand up to his face again. He stopped halfway there, so Phil didn’t count it as twenty nine. 

“Here,” Phil said, standing and pulling all the papers to him. “You’re just playing pitiful to get out of doing your own work. I’m on to your tricks, you know.”

Marcus leaned back against the bed and Phil leaned his knee against the control, slowly letting the head recline. “What would I do without you, Cheese?” Marcus let his remaining eyelid droop.

Die, Phil didn’t say. Die at a madman’s hands and never know why. “You owe me a pizza.”

“I bought you a pizza, asshole.”

“You owe me at least one more, fucker. Probably more like two more, maybe even three. And a beer, you owe me so many beers.”

Forty seconds later, Marcus whispered “Thank you” to the ceiling.

“Shut up.”

“Yeah.”

The silence stretched for long enough that Phil thought Marcus had fallen asleep. He stretched his back. His injuries were nothing to the trauma of losing an eye, but his back hurt, his ribs hurt, and he was pretty sure when feeling came back to his feet, they’d hurt, too. He stretched slowly, feeling each vertebra shift and snag back into place. He pulled the other set of papers toward him, and flipped through. 

“I think there’s a rule about privacy of medical information,” Marcus said, his eye still closed.

“Pretty sure it’s negated when you sign me up as Power of Attorney and medical proxy, dumbass.”

“Yeah well, it’s just until I find somebody better.”

“Might want to look into that, because if you leave it to me, I’m going get them to make you a glass eye that looks reptilian. Vertical slit pupil, yellow iris, the whole, here, hang on, let me get you water.”

“Laughing hurts,” Marcus said, when he could.

“No,” Phil corrected. “Getting the shit beat out of you hurts.”

“Not gonna laugh any more.”

“Don’t get beat up, instead.”

“Yeah, that’s why we’re joining Johnson’s organization. Because we won’t get beat up none.”

“Dunno about you, but they had me at SSR.”

Marcus snorted. “Fucking geek.”

“You knew that. What’s your excuse?”

“Tagging along to keep you …” he trailed off. “I’m sorry.”

“No.”

Marcus lolled his head sideways, to bring Phil into line of sight. “The hell’d you say?”

“Apology not accepted, you dumb fuck. I choose to follow you, there and then, here and now and apparently,” he flipped to the last section of the stapled pages, “for the forseeable future, possibly across international waters and boundaries, up to and including … Are they serious? Space travel?”

“You sign it yet?”

“Nah, I’m still staring in horror at the checklist on the back page. You think they’re serious?”

“We’re signing up to work with a Top Secret agency that deals with weird shit. Do I think they are keeping their options open for whatever weirder shit we trip over? Yes. Do I think they’ve already dealt with aliens? Maybe. Are all of them real? Fuck if I know, Cheese.” He paused, and Phil read down the page. "Hey, you figure they’re ET or Predator?”

“Hoping ET," Phil answered, "but the way this week has gone, I think we can expect tongues with teeth of their own and acidic blood. ‘Medical Experimentation post mortem’. Hell, I’ll be dead, so whatever, checky-mark, sure. Heh, they’ve got a box here for telepathic bonding and okay, aliens I’ll buy, but soulbonding? Marcus, you found your soulmate?” He lowered his voice. “You asleep?”

“Thinking about soulmates, man. The Army recruiters didn’t ask about soulmates.”

“That’s because the Army doesn’t believe in emotions, Ranger.” Phil snickered, then tapped the end of the pen against the paper. “I dunno, Marcus. I like the idea. Soulmates. Better than aliens.”

“Put me down for ‘no’.” 

Phil cocked his head. “You don’t like the idea of true love?”

“I like the idea, I just … I guess I just don’t buy it. And what does that say, that I can take aliens, but…. I guess I’m just tired, man.”

Phil leaned forward and patted Marcus’ thigh, solid under the thin hospital blanket. “S’okay, buddy. You can be the brooding superagent. I’ll be the hopeful one. And the dashing one.. And the …”

“And the one dealing with aliens.”

“Well, yeah, but when we come up against the Lizard People, you’ll have the eye and everything.”

“Fucker, I told you laughing hurts,” Marcus wheezed and Phil just grinned.

**Author's Note:**

> Because after all of it, Phil still has faith.


End file.
